


Nothing Good On

by Wireslide



Series: Fifty Ships [8]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, How do aliens even, Non-Penetrative Sex, Rough Sex, Spore Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 20:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16961241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wireslide/pseuds/Wireslide
Summary: Trigel gets bored when there's nothing on the vid screen, and decides to make Alfor entertain her.





	Nothing Good On

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of a 50-50 challenge.
> 
> 'Trigel' is a parasitic fungus alien controlling a host body. Think cordyceps.

She picked up the remote, flicking through the channels for the seventh time in as many dobashes, growling faintly when there didn't seem to be another nature documentary on the available channels. She threw the remote at Coran's head as the Altean wandered in. “Tell Alfor to turn the Castle back towards the Enpari sector,” she snapped, “nothing on the networks in range are worth watching.”

Catching the remote and settling it into the basket on his way by, Coran shot her a dull look over his shoulder. “What's the matter, Trigel?” He asked archly. “Not enough gore and slaughter on the telly for your constantly-empty stomach?” He yelped when she launched herself from the couch to slam him into the wall, perching on his back like an oversized bird.

“If it was slaughter I was after, stupid little peon, you wouldn't have gotten into the room alive,” she hissed in his ear, launching herself off of him with another heave and landing neatly on her feet by the door. “Nevermind, I'll tell Alfor myself. And remember, engineer--” she paused in the doorway, the antennae atop her head wiggling, “the smart ones are always the tastiest.” Her laughter almost covered the horrified sounds of him gagging and washing his face in the kitchen sink.

She stalked past Zarkon in the hallway and barely noticed when he sidled closer to the far wall and held his breath until he was well clear. The bridge was empty except for Alfor, who stood with his palms casually resting on the navigation pillars as the stars zipped by on the viewscreen. “Alfor,” she snapped, scowling when the man looked over his shoulder with a polite expression, “head back towards Enpari, the local stations are crap.”

To her further irritation, he gave her a faint smile before stepping off the pilot's platform. “There's been a disturbance out by the Yasuk Rim, Trigel, so don't you think, that as our galaxy's appointed--”

“Self appointed,” she corrected automatically.

“Defenders,” he continued with the same mild, pleasant expression, “we should investigate and help if it's needed? Now,” he reached up and gently settled his hands on her shoulders, breathing in deeply and noting when her eyes locked on his mouth, “what's really bothering you?”

“I'm bored and hungry and everyone else won't let me near them since sporing season,” she reached up to grab his hair and gave it a yank, grinning when his eyes glazed over. “Entertain me,” she demanded, leaning in to inhale the rich, sweet scent of his sudden arousal.

His smile was only slightly dulled by the rapid dilation of his pupils. “Wouldn't you rather I just lie down and let you use me?” He reached up to curl his hand over hers where it tangled in his hair. “Isn't that how your people do things, just using the nearest body whenever and however it pleases you?”

She gave him a leer, pulling his head back a bit with her grip on his hair and watching his breath stutter. “You know my people can't spore Alteans,” she growled, “so yes, I will use you as I can.” She pulled hard, and he sank to his knees, then onto his back when she put her foot on his chest and kicked him backwards. “Thank your faceless creator that I can feel every part of this puppet, or this would involve more of you bleeding than even you would like,” she hissed, crawling over him to straddle his hips. She noted the muted hesitation in his eyes when she drew the knife from her boot, but graced him with another sharp smile when he tipped his head back to let her start cutting at the tight collar of his red armor.

Despite the threat, she was careful not to do more than nick him a couple of times when he squirmed—the second time earned him being pinned with her other hand by the throat, which made him whine but hold obediently still—and cut the suit off his torso with relative ease. She set the knife aside and watched him struggle for air through the pressure of her fingers, smirking at the twitch of his fingers by her knees on the floor. “You owe me this, Altean,” she reminded him, easing up on the pressure enough to let him gasp, “after making me deadspore my last cycle. You know that's _unsatisfactory_ for my people, don't you?” She ground her hips down against him and didn't bother to hide the triumph at the significant bulge beneath her. “Tonight, I spore. Everything I held back during my last cycle, and you're going to breathe. It. All. In.” She leaned in close to his face, trailing the tip of her tongue over the delicate point of his ear. “Like a good little meat puppet.”

Her grip tightened around his throat again, and he shuddered and writhed beneath her. He lifted his hands and settled them on her thighs, flexing his fingers enough to communicate his enthusiasm with a little more clarity than the stuttering whine she choked out of him. He rocked his hips up, seeking friction, and she laughed as she obliged. “ _Eager_ little meat puppet,” she corrected, tilting her head to let him see the opening slit along the length of one of the tendrils that usually lay dormant along the back of her host's neck, “remember to breathe it _all_ in, Alfor—a single stray spore could do some wicked things to your big pet Galra, wouldn't it?”

The deeper, harder fear in his eyes made her smile wider, and she felt the rest of her gills starting to open up. She leaned in, opening her hand again and watching with delight as the tiny motes already starting to leak from her gills got caught in the harsh intake of his gasp. “Oh, but don't you know about our deal, Altean?” She purred, eyes locked on his face as his gaze flicked frantically back and forth to make sure none of her spores escaped. “You see, when your big stupid _pet_ ,” she savored the word, the way his pupils contracted in stifled rage, “dies, I get to spore his body and ride it around all nicelike. It'll be a nice change, to be tall,” the half-thoughtful addition brought a low growl from under her palm, and she tightened her grip momentarily with a sneer, “I might even still let you play with the meat when I get bored. Don't you think that's nice of me?”

She breathed in the fear and rage in his eyes, rocked down against his hips again, and leaned down to let out another light layer of spores as she released his neck. He gasped them in desperately, fingers tightening on her thighs. “Your species is so stupid,” she gave him a laughing little purr, leaning down towards his face and sliding their hips together again, “once you get going you can't stop, not rock rain nor solar flares nor gruesome dismemberments,” she tipped her head, nipping at his ear again and laughing when he hissed, “can stop the famed Altean libido once it starts.”

He gave her a short grin and leaned up to drag his tongue over one of her open gills, pulling a ragged gasp and another wave of spores out of her. “You going to tease me with openers,” he panted, “or fill my lungs with spore until I choke on it?”

She wrapped her hand back around his throat and slammed his head back down to the floor, letting out a rattling, throaty hiss and coating his face in another layer of spores. While he reeled and gasped from the sudden assault, she ground her hips down into him and watched his face as his eyes rolled in his head and slid closed. She grabbed one of his nipples with her free hand and tugged, watching his eyes pop back open and his spine snap taut. “Silly little meat suit,” she crooned, the spores puffing from her gills with each shift and tilt of her head, “did you think I hadn't noticed, all that romping all over the castle you do with your pet, that he always touches your chest when he wants to play?” She pinched the nipple, rolling it between her fingers, and shook her head when he keened.

“Such tender meat. Maybe it's a good thing my people can't spore Alteans. We'd constantly be distracted. How do you even manage to wear shirts without,” she tugged on the nipple again and watched a bone-deep shudder work its way down his body, “just,” she pressed it flat and rubbed it with her fingertips, “ _messing yourselves_ all day?” She dragged her fingernails over Alfor's nipple and shook another release of spores onto his face as he whined and arched beneath her. “Twice more, eager meat,” she huffed into his ear as he rocked up into her, “how's your breathing?”

He was rasping when he rolled his head to look up at her, heavy ragged breaths jagging out between his lips. “I can handle twice more, Deltarian,” he assured her hazily, “but I'll need to detox after.”

“I'll make sure your big stupid pet takes care of you,” she reassured, nibbling on his ear again, “and if you're very good, I'll even tell him to wear protective gear to come in to help you after.” She laughed when he shuddered underneath her. “No, see, I wonder what it would be like to work meat that big, but of all the hang-ups for me to have, what bothers me is...” she scraped her teeth behind his ear, and laughed as he whined again, “when I do take him over, how do I avoid killing you with his giant junk when you still want to play?” She listened to him whine again and shivered, puffing out another haze of spores. “Or should I just let you figure it out while it's happening?”

His laugh came out in another ragged rasp. “Not even you would find that appealing, Trigel.” He gasped and shuddered, writhing up against her when she laughed and bit the side of his neck, coating him in one last layer of spores. He breathed them in as deeply as he could, smothering a coughing fit as she pushed herself back up and shook herself off. He grinned up at her as she tugged her armor back in place. “Remember--”

“To remind him to wear safety gear, I know,” she waved a hand at him airily as she headed for the hallway. “We should be in Yasuk's broadcast range now, too, so I'll be able to find something to watch.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> We'll cover a little more on Altean biology in the next installment; Alfor's not really choking on the spores because he's getting his atmospheric intake through body vents. Altean 'lungs' are to perpetuate speech, that's all.


End file.
